The Lost Fleet – Dauntless

“Good possibilities.” Despite the appearance of the Syndic pursuit force, everything seemed well in hand. Unfortunately, it’s usually just when you think everything’s under control that everything and its brother starts going to hell in a handbag. So what can go wrong? Titan? She looks like she’s not in trouble for once.

“Sir.” Both Geary and Desjani turned at the operations watch-stander’s hail. “Titan reports she has another primary propulsion unit back on line.”

“Praise our ancestors.” Geary had tensed in dread as Titan’s name came up on the heels of his worries. It had taken him a moment to realize it wasn’t bad news after all. Now he checked the statistics for Titan, noting its best acceleration had improved significantly. But she’s still too damn slow. What idiot labeled those ships Fast Fleet Auxiliaries? The only thing fast about them is how quickly they can get into trouble. “What are the chances Titan can strap on a few extra primary propulsion units at some point?”

The operations watch-stander looked startled, then glanced at the engineering watch-stander, who also looked surprised, then thoughtful. “It might be possible, sir.” His face began to take on the glow of an engineer presented with a complex problem that he might have the means to solve.

Geary leaned back, taking in the entire situation slowly, trying to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. But aside from the Alliance fleet itself, the Syndic pursuit force and the twenty merchants headed steadily for their rendezvous, nothing else seemed to be moving in Corvus Star System. All the other Syndic shipping had headed for the nearest place to dock and hope the Alliance fleet didn’t send any ships that way. Dauntless’s combat systems were estimating that the Syndic pursuit force had pushed up to an average velocity of slightly more than 30,000 kilometers a second, but against the vast scale of space, that still left them crawling at not much more than a tenth of light speed. “They’re not trying to catch us,” Geary noted.

Desjani frowned, her eyes darting to the representation of the Syndic warships. “They’re not?”

“No. Not if these readings are right. They’re not accelerating anymore. Not that they could catch us before we reach the jump point even if they did push up to point two light. But they’re not trying.”

“They’re…just chasing us?”

“Herding us,” Gearing corrected. “They want us to keep going.”

“To the jump point?”

“To Yuon. I’d stake my life on it.” Come to think of it, I am. Worse, I’m staking the lives of every man and woman on these Alliance ships on it. What if the Syndics have already guessed that I won’t run straight for home? What if they know Kaliban is the best alternative?

No. They can’t risk this fleet getting safely through Yuon, so they’ll be there in force. They don’t have any choice.

But they still might’ve seeded Kaliban with enough mines to rip this fleet to shreds. Has there been enough time for that? Would the Syndics have that many mines close enough to Kaliban to get them there before we get there? Have they even considered the possibility that we’ll go there?

There’s no way to know. I can’t afford to second-guess this. I can’t afford to let the possibility of disaster keep me from making and acting on decisions, because no matter what I do there’ll always be that possibility.

He took a long, deep breath, momentarily blocking out his surroundings. When Geary opened his eyes, he saw Desjani giving him an approving look.

“I don’t know how you can be so relaxed at times like this,” she confessed. “But I know it impresses my crew.”

“It’s, um, something I work at.”

It gradually became obvious that nothing was going to happen for a while. Geary checked the timeline for the rendezvous with the Syndic merchants and saw that the Marine shuttles wouldn’t launch for another two hours. Fighting off an irrational urge to keep watching everything for fear it might come unraveled without his personal attention, Geary stood up. “I’m going to get something to eat,” he told Captain Desjani. She nodded. Geary noticed as he left that the watch-standers on the Dauntless’s bridge were all watching him admiringly. Ancestors help me if I ever start to believe everything I do is as perfect as these people think. If I tripped and fell on my butt, they’d probably think it was Black Jack Geary’s way of preparing for action, and they’d all start doing it.

However, the interaction with the personnel on the bridge had reminded Geary of the importance of letting the crew see him. He’d been thinking longingly of holing up in his stateroom again and gnawing on a ration bar, safely hidden from the eyes of both those who worshipped the decks Black Jack Geary trod and those who thought John Geary was an ancient relic totally out of his depth. Instead, he walked to one of the mess areas, joined the line and got a meal, then sat down at a table with several sailors at it.